


To Kill a King

by Konojolras



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2604305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Konojolras/pseuds/Konojolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A world where there was never a sword in the stone, or a child to take it. No King Arthur, nor a round table. Morgan Le Fay has taken over the throne of Britain through the use of dark magic. After she discovers the truth about Sir Arthur's gender and identity as Uther Pendragon's heir, she sends her on a job to a faraway kingdom - Uruk - to murder its king, Gilgamesh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

  A wooden log sits upon a bed of golden flames. It rustles in agony, slowly being consumed into nothingness by the growing heat. The scarce light of a rainy autumn day filters through pale stained glass. Outside, daily showers pound down on the castle. This relentless sound is the only thing that can be heard throughout the throne room. This room engulfed in darkness is the centre of a citadel, the heart of a kingdom. This is the Tintagel Castle.  
In front of the burning fireplace stands a woman. She's tall and slender, with mist in her skin and midnight in her hair, carefully braided by the skilful hands of one of her maidens. Her black eyes are void of all light, as if they fed on the golden flames rustling before her. Although she has the mannerisms and build of the finest royalty, a stranger might’ve seen in the woman no more than a vile witch. This is Morgana Le Fey - no, this is Morgana Pendragon. Heir of Uther Pendragon and ruler of Britain.  
  
She smiles at the fire.  
Yes, the rightful ruler of Britain.  
  
"Your majesty," a voice calls from the doorway. "Did you request my presence?"  
The queen's smile contorts into a wicked grin.  
"Ah, Sir Arthur, yes, come in, come closer."  
  
    She turns around, giving her back to the fire. Before her stands a knight wearing a worn silver armour. His boots are brown from the dry mud upon them. Strands of pale golden locks litter disorderly from their tie. He looks at the queen with piercing emerald eyes.  
She despises those eyes. She loathes them.  
  
"I apologize your majesty, but is there any reason to interrupt the training of young squires?"  
He is surprisingly shorter than the queen, but stands with as much pride as the woman - if not with more.  
Morgana scorns at his defiance, glaring at him with hatred.  
"Is there a reason for me not to request the presence of my best knight?" She says, pauses, then lets off a tiny laughter, "' _Knight_ ' such a fancy word for someone of your condition."  
Arthur frowns, "Is there a reason to doubt my knighthood, your majesty? If there is, I would like to know, then I will be able to prove so otherwise"  
With a graceful movement, she moves from the side of the large room, toward her throne. She caresses the arms of the seat with care, longing. Without looking at Arthur, she speaks once more.  
  
"It is simple, a matter of names, really."  
"Oh?"  
"Yes, it’s funny how just a couple letters can make such a difference." She turns to her knight, "Isn’t it, Arturia Pendragon?"  
The name seems to cause immense fear upon the knight. His eyes widen, looking at the queen of darkness with terror.  
"Aren't you going to follow through with your defiance?" She grins once more, pleased, "Won’t you pull your pants down and prove otherwise?"  
The knight remains silent, averting his -no, her gaze from her.  
Morgana's laugh grows, echoing through the throne room once more.  
  
"You're not only a woman. But a traitor. A bastard hiding under a manly facade. Merely a pawn of a delirious wizard for him to claim the throne. Pitiful, really."  
"That's not-"  
Arturia's voice gets lost in the greatness of the room.   
  
Morgana sits down. She rests her chin upon her hand, eyeing the cross dressing girl before her, her eyes full of amusement.   
  
"A pitiful bastard girl would try to steal the throne from  _me,_ by dressing up as a man no less!" she pauses, "however, you are impressive. To have risen like you have among the knights of Britannia, to have excelled in so many battles. Perhaps there might be some hope for you."  
  
The queen's expression softens.  
  
"Killing you would certainly bring trouble, as many members of this court love you as much as they fear me. Killing off the subject of their admiration would only evoke hatred towards me. They might revolt even. No, that's no good. This is why I'll have you prove your worth to me, Arturia."  
  
The knight raises her head once more, although rage fuels her thoughts, she cannot help but be curious.  
  
"Beyond our seas far from our coasts and woods lie many other kingdoms." she begins, "There is a certain one which has caught my attention. I trust you are familiar with Uruk?"  
  
Arturia nods, "A kingdom in the desert. The Fertile Crescent. Strong, fruitful, wealthy."  
"A strong king. Great military power."  
"Do you wish to ally Britannia with Uruk?"  
"Heavens no, no. I mean to destroy that kingdom."  
  
The knight kinks an eyebrow and looks at the eyes of the queen.  
"If you wish, I shall engage in battle with the other knights. It might be hard, but if we gather enough information on them we-"  
  
"No." Morgana cuts her off, shaking her head, "I am not interested in openly declaring war to Uruk. That'd be a terrible decision."  
"Then what do you mean to do."  
"I want you to go to Uruk's court and murder the king, Gilgamesh. He has weakened after the death of his most trusted advisor, it is a good time to strike against him."  
"They would recognize me as a British knight and probably declare war if that were to happen-"  
"Here's the thing. You aren't to go to Uruk as Arthur, no, you will enter Uruk as Arturia, a maiden given as a gift from Britannia to Gilgamesh's harem."  
  
Rage rose in the knight once more. Her face reddened with anger, contorting into the foulest scowl.   
  
"I am not a maiden, a lady, nor an assassin. Such an action would be an insult against chivalry. I cannot do this job. I will not do this job!"  
  
The words came out louder than she had planned to. Her voice resounded through the room, clearly shocking and displeasing the queen. The dark woman stood up slowly, not breaking eye contact with the girl.   
  
"Oh, but Arturia, you have no choice."  
"If I am to endure a death sentence then so be it, I will not betray my ideals. They are far more important than my life."  
"See, it is not your life that comes into play here."  
" _What_?"  
"If you refuse this kind offer of mine, I will not order your execution. Instead, I will take the life of all those knights and squires under your command. I will make sure they are tortured, broken. I will make sure they experience the darkest of magic if necessary. They will be destroyed. Cursing your existence in their last moments. I will make sure they know their suffering is yours to take the blame. Their spirits will haunt you as their souls burn in hell. As for you, I will have you defiled by every man in the court. In the kingdom, if necessary. I won't stop there, oh no. Have you ever wondered how it would be like to bear a pig's or a horse's child? Oh, I've definitely wanted to know how that child would look like. Probably much like you do either way. I will destroy your loved ones, starting with that wizard of yours. I will erase any sense of honour in your name. They will  _despise_  you."   
  
Morgana spoke with venom in her words and fire in her eyes. If a fiend was to stand next to her, a human being wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. She smiled maniacally, her teeth much like a snake's. In Arturia's eyes, this queen of darkness was possessed.  
  
But even the greatest knight was afraid.   
  
The queen sat down and smiled a kind smile once more.   
  
"So, when shall you depart?"

 


	2. A City Blessed by the Sun

_Uruk, Kingdom of Babylonia_

The night air was warm.  A soft breeze carried the smell of damp earth, and slowly dragging black clouds across a starless sky. The sound of chirping insects and singing frogs reigned the night, as if they muffled every other sound by the riverbank.  
-Yet their perfect song was silenced as a loud moan broke through the night.

A woman gasped with pleasure under her lover’s touch. Her bare chest rose and fell heavily, with wet, dark hair clinging to her flushed body. She sighed in the man’s ear as he reached into her before reaching a loud climax. Her body fell heavy upon the soft linen sheets as the man finished and stood up. He glanced at her for a couple minutes, waiting for her to fall asleep. He pulled a robe and covered himself with it.

Why did they have to be so _noisy_?

He took a deep breath and walked out of his room and into the night. It had been a while since he had walked barefoot upon the damp earth, for it was uncivilized, filthy, and most of all, it was _painful_. He walked towards the riverbank and stood over the mud. He allowed himself to feel the faint breeze as it caressed his skin, the sound of moving reeds, croaking frogs, the smell of the water before him. He would have never before indulged in meaningless things such as these. Yet they now held a newfound meaning, full of sorrow, full of nostalgia.

Oh, how he missed him.

He clenched his fist.

“Enkidu,” he whispered, “What am I supposed to do? My friend, my brother, am I not like you? Am I to die, like you did?” his voice was lost into nothingness.

He had wept, he had mourned, but it did nothing to soothe the pain.

“Enkidu, I am afraid.”

He would’ve never admitted so out loud. But his friend was gone, and there was no one that would hear him.

“Your majesty?”

A voice called from behind him, making him to turn with haste and alarm. Her furrowed his brows and took on a defensive stance, but it quickly relaxed at the sight of a pair of gleaming, amber eyes under the moonlight.

“Sagmi,” he called, hoping he wasn’t mistaking the woman before him, “I am tired for the time being. I do not need you. Leave me be.” He said coldly, turning his back on her, “Wake Arali when you do. I wish to be alone.”

“Your majesty, your robe is a mess.” She spoke with a gentle tone, a warm smile in her face despite the king’s harsh words.

“That is none of your business, woman.”

“Allow me to take it, I’ll get someone to wash it.”

 His face softened.

“Very well.” He slid out of the robe and handed it to the woman, but even with robe in hand, she stood her ground, facing the naked king.

“Your feet.” She added, “Shall I cleanse those as well?” having spoken, she kneeled down and beginning to wipe the mud off his feet with her own clothes.

He look down on her, slightly bewildered. Like this, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wonder to the curve in her back. Her bare skin was of a rich, olive tone, her outline feminine even in the darkness. He reached out and took a lock of her silky hair on his hand and leaned in to kiss it.

He needed to take his mind away from his worries.

The woman looked up and met his eyes – and their figures sunk onto the warm earth.

            _Outskirts of Uruk, Kingdom of Babylonia_

The Babylonian sun shone down upon a sea of seemingly endless plains. Warm winds carried streams of sand with them, clouding the view of the horizon with a cloak of golden brown particles.

It was the beginning of the rainy season.

A pair of horses made their way through a dusty, rocky path. After a month of travelling through barren desert, flushed trees had begun to appear in the distance. White clouds had begun to provide a temporary, yet pleasant shed. Crops and farms had begun to dot the landscape.

But even with the relief of their nearby destination, the travellers were exhausted. They silently cursed the heat, the sun, the dust, the earth beneath them. A land so barren, so unforgiving could not hold anything good for them.

And yet, they rode on.

They rode side by side, yet remained silent, like they had been for several hours on end. Upon a white horse, rode a woman, her pale hair tied back in a mess of a bun. Her bangs clung to her forehead, sticky with sweat and heat. Her vibrant eyes were tired, contoured by dark circles due to the lack of sleep. Beside her rode a man. Thick drops of sweat trailed down his forehead. Despite his exhaustion, his tired eyes would often wonder to the companion beside him, as if wishing to talk to her, but he said nothing in the end, prolonging the silence.

He had never felt such heat. It was as if the sun and wind drained him of all life. His hair was matted and dishevelled, stuck into an enormous knot because of the sweat, sand and wind. The taste of dust and dirt lingered in his mouth.

All the water held that same, unpleasant taste.

            The lack of sleep, water and a proper meal had at last begun to take a toll on him. He had never travelled so far away from his homeland, and after this trip, he never planned to again. Homesickness gave him a heavy heart- and yet…

He found the sight of the woman riding alongside him comforting.

She was so strong, stronger than he was. Stronger than any other back home. _But_ , even she was afraid.

“Bedivere. We’re here.”

            She broke the silence that had stood between them throughout the day.

He slowed down and looked before him. A great walled city had seemed to materialize before his eyes, camouflaging itself behind the hazy heat and cloud of sand. He had been so lost exhausted he had not noticed that the rocky path beneath his horse’s feet had long turned into a paved road. Vegetation had become denser, and grass had begun to further grow around him. Merchants left and entered the city, some with horses, others with asses and others with animals he had never even seen.

The city walls towered over both riders as they entered the city, passing through the crowded gate. Bedivere made his horse go slowly, as he gazed upon the incredible architecture. After almost two months of the journey, the sight of a city so great was incredible. Yet he couldn’t help but feel his heart sink as he compared the greatness of the place to that of Camelot.

Britain suddenly appeared insignificant beside this city blessed by the sun.

He stole another glance at his companion, looking for the same uneasiness in her eyes. But the determination in her expression remained unchanging. She was not one to compare the greatness of her kingdom to that of another and feel miserable. No, as long as she did her best to make her kingdom thrive she’d be contempt. Greed did not rule her ideals, only hopes for getting through the day and paving a better future for all those that depended upon her.

Coming here put that ideal, that dream, in an unimaginable danger.

Morgana was no fool. Sending Arturia to fend by herself in the Babylonian court was a strategic move. The odds of her getting back home alive from this task were infinitely against her favour. Even if she did manage to murder her objective, she’d probably get murdered by his subjects upon trying to escape. Then, with Arturia dead, Morgana would’ve definitely secured the throne for her own lineage.

Hopes were low.

She had left Camelot fully aware of this risk, making sure her most trusted knights, along with Merlin had remained home to plan a way of revolting against the queen.

They had to hold on to the hope her judgement brought.

 

The streets of Uruk were incredibly busy. It was hard for the Britons to make their horses way through the crowd. Street vendors offered their goods, speaking in an alien language, neither of them had heard before. The pleasant smell of various spices lingered throughout the air, as well as the smell of the foul smell of the domestic animals for sale. The absence of sound they had endured during their journey through the desert had immediately been replaced with the chattering of people and the noises of animals.

Afternoon had begun to set in by the time they reached the gate to the inner city. As they had ventured deeper into the city, they couldn’t help but notice how each gate was a greater display of wealth than the last, as if designating social castes and divisions with the enormous walls. Yet, despite the extravagance they portrayed, the knights were equally captivated by their beauty. This particular one, was perhaps the most beautiful work of architecture either of them had ever stood before.

The bricks seemed to be of a vibrant blue stone, with golden creatures and flowers depicted upon it with a carefully created mosaic.

They both took deep breaths. This was specifically put in place in order to intimidate foreign ambassadors and visitors. They would not fall for that trap, they had to gather their bearings.

Bedivere approached the gate, handing a letter to one of the guards. The man frowned and talked with his partner in the unknown, eastern tongue, before signalling the Briton to stand his ground and entering the inner city. The knight looked over at Arturia with uneasiness, but she only nodded to him and dismounted her horse.

After several minutes, the guard came back with an older woman by his side. She examined Arturia, ignoring the man accompanying her completely. She scoffed and shook her head, muttering some words under her breath, then roughly grabbed Arturia by the wrist and dragged her into the gate. Bedivere tried to follow, but the guards blocked him the entry.

He called for her, scared.

She didn’t turn back to look at him as she disappeared in the distance.

She belonged to them now.

 


	3. An interesting breed

The lukewarm water caressed her bare skin. The smell of oils filled the air. She closed her eyes, wallowing in the feeling of cleanness as the grime that had clung to her for over a month left her body floating upon the clear water. Taking a deep breath, she slowly slid down and submerged her head under the water, then massaged her own scalp with her fingers, cleaning her hair as it flowed loose of its usual tie. Those seconds she spent underwater were ones full of pure bliss, she let her worries go even for a couple seconds, releasing herself.

However, such bliss was short lived, for she had to rise out of the water and breathe once more. Time kept onward, life returned to what it was. Despite being able to take a pleasant bath, her situation wasn’t any less dire. With Bedivere gone, she now found herself completely alone in a foreign land, sitting in a court full of enemies, no clear plan on action in mind despite several days of pondering. The best outcome seemed to be to murder the king upon gaining his trust, but after that…she saw no outcome that would assure her life afterwards.

            It is not like the thought of escaping hadn’t crossed her mind once or twice. But that would mean to never be able to return to her homeland again, for if she did, internal conflict would be certain, as well as she would selfishly be putting her comrades’ lives in danger. And if she never was to return…how would she live with herself after doing so? It would be a betrayal of all the principles she loved and held dear.

No, escaping wasn’t a viable option for her.

            At least Merlin had made the situation more bearable by making sure she’d be able to understand the foreign language. Of course, it was still wiser to pretend that she didn’t, but it was still better to have a clear idea of that going on in the world surrounding her, even if the Babylonians she’d encountered were vain and vile.

            Upon her arrival and abrupt parting with Bedivere, the lady who had received her, and whom she assumed to be the main maid – or whatever they called those in Babylonia – had only complained about her looks. She’d said her skin was the colour of newborn pigs and how her arms and legs were that of a man’s. Arturia did not mind the insults, as she paid no mind to her looks, however, she did wish the other woman would cease her complaints.

            She had practically been forced into the bath, as they felt such a filthy and deplorable aspect would’ve been an insult for their king. They poured scented oils onto her and scrubbed her forcefully for a while before leaving her to finish cleansing herself on her own. Most of them left the room, with only one maiden remaining at the corner to wait for her to finish bathing.

            Arturia sighed and stood up, drops of water sliding down her naked body. With the night starting to set in, the air felt cold against her skin, making her shiver slightly. She carefully stepped out of the bath and was handed white robes by the maiden waiting for her. She smiled in silent thanks and continued to dress herself.

* * *

 

            Moonlight filtered into the throne room in the shape of a spectral veil. A couple torches provided illumination, yet the corners of the room still remained engulfed by the growing shadows. A couple steps in the centre of the room lead up to a throne of white stone with fine and careful carvings, as well as being adorned with sheets of carnelian, lapis lazuli and gold. Upon the throne sat a man surveying the room with bored eyes. He rested his chin on his left hand, while occupying his right one on caressing the soft mane of a full grown lion resting by his side.

            Impatient, he turns to one of his servants, glaring at him with anger.

“Well? Was I only disturbed to be kept waiting?” his strong voice breaks through the silence of the room. “Who was the incompetent mongrel that called upon this waste of time?”

            He stood up, waking up the beast at his side. The feline yawned and stretched lazily, standing up to follow his master.

“Your majesty, if you could just wait for a little longer…”

            The tiny voice seemed to be lost in the midst of the grand room, yet the sound was enough to evoke fury upon the monarch. He directed a furious glare to the man who had spoken, who stood frozen in fear under his king’s eyes.

“Is that something you ask of your king? How _dare_ you, you-!”

“Your majesty, I apologize to have kept you waiting, she had to be cleaned up.”

            A group of maidens walked into the throne room, guiding the newly arrived girl. The king paused at the sight of them. He kinked an eyebrow, curious. He sighed and resigned, sitting back down on the throne. He watched closely as a new woman, a foreigner as encouraged to take a step forward. His eyes wandered throughout the small figure. A groan escaped him as he realized most of her body had been covered by a white gown, leaving only her dainty feet to the view.

“This is a gift sent by the kingdom of Britannia, in northwestern Europe. The queen of the region sends her regards and hopes that you’ll enjoy this woman as an offering of friendship between both kingdoms.”

            He paid no mind to the words of the announcement, and continued to examine the woman as carefully as he could from the distance. She had brought her hand to her chest, and kneeled before him, bowing her head. It was a rather strange gesture for a woman as such, which peaked his interest immediately.

“Rise, woman.”

            Arturia was surprised to hear him speaking her native tongue. Still, she did not let her guard down. She stood, never leaving the pride in her mannerisms behind, she then raised her head, looking up at the man before her.

This man- the king himself seemed to be a living personification of the sun in Arturia’s eyes. He appeared to irradiate light – harsh, unforgiving light. He stood out amongst his subjects, for his golden hair seemed to shine even under the pale moonlight, unlike the dark hair that was common in the region. He is strong, as proved by his chest only covered barely by a pale tunic, revealing a carefully toned body, with skin slightly tanned by the days spend under the sun. Finally, his eyes, of a more vibrant red than that of the carnelian decorating most of his domain, would’ve pierced throughout anyone he locked his gaze with.

But she didn’t flinch.

Her emerald eyes locked in with his ruby ones.

He grinned.

            She didn’t waver under his presence, as intimidating as it was to his own subjects. She didn’t look away. Her expression was cold – perhaps with her eyes even holding some anger within them.

“Now, now, is that any way to look upon your king, woman? Won’t you change that face?”

Arturia’s seemed to furrow even further.

“King Gilgamesh, I am afraid I have not learnt any type of magic that would allow me to change my face. If you have taken a dislike of it, I might as well return to my homeland.”

Gilgamesh blinked, as if processing her words. She half-regretted them, fearing that it would evoke a premature anger.

But instead, he broke into laughter.

Although Gilgamesh would, as a habit reject every gift offered to him, as they couldn’t usually hold to the beauty of his own possessions, he resist but accept this particular woman. Her child-like face and strong eyes were of a strange, unusual beauty, one he had never before allowed himself to indulge in.

“On the contrary, rejoice, for I have taken a liking of you already.” He said, smiling with white teeth bare at her. It took her entire will not to scoff at the man, who, in her eyes, looked like nothing more than a beast blinded by feverish hunger. He leaned back on his throne, “So, what is your name?”

“Arturia.”

“Very well Arturia, I find myself interested in you. Expect a private audience with me, soon.”

She clenched her fist, a scowl forming in her lips as she heard him speak, but before she could retort, he stood up and walked down the stairs, the lion following him as he did.

“You are all dismissed.” He said, and with that, he left the room.

* * *

 

Gilgamesh laid, for once, alone on his bed. He covered his body with thin linen sheets. His room carried the smell of jasmine in the air, as it was the preferred perfume of most of his mistresses. He drunk wine from a golden goblet as he stared into the distance. He savoured the sweet Greek wine as he drank, it was perhaps one of the only gifts he had found enjoyment on since beer had been the only drink he could immerse himself into before wine’s arrival.

Ah, yes perhaps it was time he found himself enjoying a new gift.

He smiled and took on another sip of his drink.

He never would’ve expected, under any circumstance, to have been given such a strange woman. Despite her small body, her delicate facial features, she still carried himself with the stride of a man. How she walked, how she stood, how she spoke. It was all brimming with great pride.

How had a woman like that ended in a Babylonian court, of all places?

            It was a pity that he wasn’t able to see more of her body. But no matter, he would have enough time to memorize every single spot of her body soon enough.

            But her body wasn’t what thrilled him with anticipation. It had been a while since he had been entertained or fascinated by a fellow human now, so perhaps this new maiden would be enough to make him forget his boredom.

He could not wait to learn about what moved the small woman, her story, her dreams, her purpose. Most of all, he could not wait until he had the opportunity to crush her.

Ah yes, she would make a fine toy.


	4. His Eden

An early November snow had befallen Camelot. A thin layer of bright white covered the landscape, a veil of mist engulfing the castle. The night’s frost had taken over plants and windows. Although midmorning had come, Tintangel itself seemed to have frozen after the snowfall, an unusual, ghastly stillness had taken over each knight and serf. It was a spectral image, fitting of a spectral reign.

In the midst of a courtyard, a large man made his way across the snow. He was of a striking contrast to that of the white wonderland surrounding him. Everything but his pale skin seemed to be of the darkest black. The cape, the armour, the dark locks reaching to his mid-back, the piercing eyes. They made him a living shadow, moving in silence through the corners of the castle.

This black knight didn’t appear to be phased by the penetrating cold that hung in the air. He carried strength and confidence in his stance, yet he would not let his guard down. His senses where all focused on his surroundings. A hand upon his sword, ready to unsheathe it at any sight or sound.

The castle loomed over him, casting a long, threatening shadow. The statues and gargoyles seemed to follow him with their lifeless, stone eyes, ready to pounce upon him at any second. He had made his way to an old section of the building, a forgotten corridor branching from the West Wing. The walls decayed further with every step he took. This building, forgotten by monarchs and tortured without mercy with time, was a safe haven for him.

He walked into the hall, never breaking stride. The trail of melting snow left behind him grew with each step. His boots were soaked, as well as his cape. Yet he never showed any sign of discomfort – only determination.

Soon, he found himself facing an old wooden door. He grabbed a pair of keys hanging from his belt and unlocked the padlock shutting it. The faint, yet warm light of candles greeted him as he walked into the room, locking the door once more.

“Lancelot.”

Several pairs of eyes were locked upon the sight of the great knight. He furrowed his brow and looked across the candlelit room, examining the expectant faces.

Before him, with men sitting all around, was a round table.         

* * *

                                                  

The gardens were Gilgamesh’s favourite place in the kingdom. In his eyes, Uruk represented the best the world had to offer.

Standing in one of the open gardens, he overlooked over the entire city. Magnificent plants of all sorts surrounded him, and there, he felt –no- he _knew_ he was standing upon the most beautiful place on Earth.

The Mesopotamian sun shone down upon the flat land, plains extending into the horizon, much like a sea of soil. The Euphrates snaked across the scenery, its surface shining with under the midday sun. Within this flat, arid kingdom, the gardens were a true Eden. They rose over Uruk with twenty five meter walls at each level, creating the illusion of the edifications being lush mountains.

With the approach of the rainy season, days had become fresher. Gilgamesh took in the soft breeze that caressed him, and closed his eyes.

“Gilgamesh.”

The call of his name broke him out of his haze, he turned to encounter a pair of eyes as green as the trees that surrounded them.

“Arturia, was it?”

He attempted to hide his surprise, not at her sudden arrival, but at her fierce impertinence. It was uncommon to hear his name without the company of a title or honorific. Normally, he’d be annoyed at such behaviour, but instead, he felt his curiosity rising.

The woman gave a quick nod. 

Those were truly beautiful eyes. Large, round eyes, much like a child’s. But, upon looking at her, it was immediately apparent that this woman was no child. Her eyes held immeasurable pain, regret, hatred. They carried within them weights that should have never been bestowed upon such a young girl. Yet…

She had embraced them.

That was the reason of why she stood before him, reduced to the humiliating role of a concubine, yet still held herself with strength and pride.

The king smiled.

“Arturia Arturia…” he repeated, savouring the name as if teasing her, “Will you kindly tell me the reason for you coming to my kingdom?”

She frowned, “I thought the reason was obvious enough already,” she responded coldly, “I am a gift from the queen of Britannia. An addition to your court.”

But Gilgamesh broke in a fit of laughter at her reply. His laughter resounded across the garden, scaring away some nearby birds.

He then shook his head, still laughing faintly, “No.” he said, “You woman are no concubine. Foreign as you may be, no woman as such doesn’t carry herself like you do. You do not move or speak to please or allure those around you,” he tilted his head, with red, catlike eyes examining her, “You lack the elegance and femininity…hah, one could even say that you have the stance of a man.” He scoffed.

“I will take that as a compliment, Gilgamesh. It is a relief I am not like the women you lie with. If I am not to your liking, you may send me back to my homeland.” His mocking did nothing to make her shrink in his presence.

“On the contrary, that is why I’m keeping you by my side, woman,” he chuckled, “That impudence of yours is truly fascinating. Surely you know that is no way to refer to your king in his court?”

“You are not my king. I have pledged my life to the rightful King of Britannia. This fact will never change.”

Gilgamesh’s smile disappeared, he kinked an eyebrow, “Britannia has no king.”

Arturia gritted her teeth, had she said too much?

“Your loyalty is truly something to admire,” he started, “However, it is clear that it isn’t pledged to your nation’s queen.”

                She froze. He grinned.

                “Perhaps it is a pity that you were born a woman. You might’ve been a great leader.”

                “I _will_ be!”

                His eyes widened at her reply. Immediately, she regretted having spoken.

 “A traitor? Is this your queen’s way of punishment? My, what a kind queen she must be.” She was far too young to have been the former king’s lover or friend. Then, what was driving her into this sense of duty?

“Excuse me, your majesty,” she mumbled, her attitude changed, “I have strong feelings for Britannia’s reign, however, that doesn’t matter anymore, as I am here to serve you.” She fought against her pride to utter out the words.

Gilgamesh frowned, annoyance taking over him.

“Stop, woman.” He hissed, “It is clear that you do not to wish to be touched by me, or any man for that matter. Do not humiliate yourself any further. It disgusts me.”

“You’re wrong, I do wish to serve yo-“

He walked to her, looming over her small frame, like a lion watching over his prey.

Arturia locked her eyes with his.

Gilgamesh took her chin with one hand and grabbed her by the waist with the other, pulling her close against her body. She tensed at the sudden actions of the Babylonian king. Her heartbeat quickened, the loud pounding filling her head.  Eyes closed shut, and she braced for him to devour her.

-But he didn’t.

The man sighed and released her. She opened her eyes once more, bewildered.

“You must know how easy it would be for me to take you.” He said, “But I do not wish to force you.”

_What?_

The king smirked once more before speaking one last time, “I will simply wait for you to yearn for my touch.”

With that, their meeting was over. Gilgamesh left the gardens, leaving Arturia standing alone in his personal Eden.

* * *

 

_A clod of clay._

_It crumbles in his hands, even though he desperately holds to it, trying to keep it whole._

_He screams. Anger and sorrow in his cry._

_“It’s okay, Gil…”_

_The clod speaks._

_His voice is soothing._

_“I was but a weapon in your collection. There is no worth in me deserving of your tears. So it’s fine, you have a soul, a life ahead of you. I’m a little jealous, really, I’ve always wanted that. At least be happy for me, Gil.”_

_This is his final breath._

_Rain comes. It pounds over them._

_"In all this world, only one shall be my friend. Thus---not for all eternity shall his worth ever change.”_

_The rain increases, and slowly, the clod becomes a pile of dirt in the wilderness._

_His friend is gone._

* * *

 

The Babylonian king slept on his chambers. He shifted uncomfortably in his sleep, brow furrowed and golden locks wet with the cold sweat of a nightmare. His breaths were quick and heavy. The woman beside him is wide awake, watching over his sleeping form. She did no effort to wake him.

In fact, she found Gilgamesh to be most beautiful at this state.

                 A smile crept upon her lips, her black eyes shining with a sadistic spark as she watched him in the darkness. She reached at his face with a small hand and caressed it.

                He was almost hers.


End file.
